Memorandum
Reynard, I have seen you outwit
the backyard pugs on YouTube
by diving into a hole and coming
out the other side unscathed,
but I have also seen you flayed
in Gawain, turned to red
pelt for display, your innards
mixed with bread and wine, a slurry
delivered to the ravenous.
Won’t you tell the truth?
I’ve felt such affection
for you, even going so far as
sending you ochre nudes.
Yet, I, too, am a faltering
illusion, keep my phone on silent
through the delirium of days.
Foxy R, we’re all lonely
and can only trick ourselves into
believing otherwise for so long.
